


help me hold on to you

by smallblueandloud



Series: and it's golden (sense8 au of the west wing) [1]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: ADHD Josh Lyman, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, Developing Relationship, Essbie's 2020 Fic Posting Extravaganza, F/M, Worldbuilding, basically just josh chugging his respect women juice, set during various episodes of s7? i love my babies a lot y'all, some tough conversations but no real angst (since we know they're getting together)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallblueandloud/pseuds/smallblueandloud
Summary: “Nice pajamas,” says Donna. Josh jerks his head up, his heart rate ratcheting up again. A second ago, he was alone in the room, silver city lights shining in through the curtains. Now, though, there’s someone else on his bed.Well, not exactly. But Josh is unused enough to the psycellium and the process of visiting someone psychically that it certainlyfeelslike she climbed through his window.“Hi,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, tamping down on the surprise and the exasperation and the ever-simmering joy at seeing her here, the physical manifestation of how he’ll never lose her.Too sappy. Moving on.(or, josh and donna have a two-person cluster - and actually have conversations during the general election)
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Series: and it's golden (sense8 au of the west wing) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607011
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	help me hold on to you

**Author's Note:**

> i've changed some of sense8's rules for this world, so here's how this works:  
> \- everyone in this world has a "cluster", which are groups of people (of any size) that they're telepathically connected to. i don't touch on the potential of this much in this fic, but clusters can share abilities and memories.  
> \- you bond with someone in your cluster with eye contact while not on blockers (which are drugs that suppress telepathy). you can... tell if your cluster isn't complete? it's a nebulous concept but people just _know_.  
> \- (josh has always used blockers religiously, even before he met donna, so they didn't figure out they were clustermates for... a while.)  
> \- unlike in the show, you can't connect in any way to anyone who isn't in your cluster! also, everyone's a sensate for worldbuilding purposes, lol.
> 
> if you haven't seen sense8, you absolutely should. it's a fantastic show (tw for drug use, gun use, and sex? lots of sex. it's amazing, i promise.) and available on netflix!
> 
> anyways. hope y'all enjoy! title is from _the archer_ by taylor swift, from her album _lover_. listen to it to get in the mood for this fic!

“Hey,” says Santos, one day, three weeks and four days into the campaign. It’s six thirty in the evening, and they’re in their New Hampshire “headquarters”, which at least has desks in it now. “Why are you constantly on blockers?”

Josh looks up, halfway through his gulp of water after his six o’clock dose. “E-” He inhales while there’s still water in his mouth, rendering him incapable of speech. After a few seconds of coughing, bent double, he’s able to clear his throat enough to look up at Santos. “Excuse me?”

“You’re always on blockers,” he says, patiently. “Why?”

Josh hasn’t come up with an explanation, because he’s _always_ been on blockers. And if he was with people who he’d actually _known for more than two months,_ he would never have to explain this. It’s standard operating procedure in his case.

Except that these days, he’s not doing it because it’s his standard operating procedure.

“It’s a- it’s a politics thing,” he says anyway, setting his glass down on his desk. “Mostly in the White House. You don’t want the president inadvertently leaking classified information to his clustermates, do you?”

“No,” says Santos, still watching him carefully. “But you’re not the president. And we’re not in the White House.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always been-” Josh coughs again, getting the last of the water out of his system. He tries to sound as nonchalant as he can. “I’ve always been careful about this sort of thing. Plus, y’know, when the other half of your cluster works for the Russell campaign-”

“What?” says Santos. His mouth falls open, slowly, before he remembers himself and closes it. He’s frowning, like he can’t register what Josh is saying. Sure, clusters with only two people are rare - but that’s not what he’s surprised about. That’s not what anyone’s ever suprised about.

Josh shrugs, looking back down at his desk. He picks up a stack of paper and straightens it against the table, to have something to do with his hands. “Yeah. She’s a big part of their organization, from what I hear- helping out the main guy, and all. Will Bailey. I’ve mentioned him to you, right?”

“You don’t consider that a-”

“Nah,” says Josh, looking back up. He puts on a smile, for Santos’ benefit. He knows it looks forced. But he also knows that he can’t hear the end of that sentence, right now. “I mean, who doesn’t want to do political battle against their own soul?”

* * *

“And I hear you’re in the market for a deputy,” says Donna, with a small smile - doing an admirable job of keeping her emotions in check. Although, maybe not. She’s sitting in front of him, yes, looking all business-like, but there’s also a Donna leaning up against the wall on his left, barriers down in psychic space, and she looks so damn _happy_ to see him.

Josh hates being off blockers. Mostly because they remind him of how much he’s missing, when he’s on them.

He shuffles through the papers on his desk and pulls out the packet he’s looking for. He hadn’t been sure why he’d kept these after analysis, during the primaries, except maybe to remind himself of what he was missing. What he’s still going to be missing.

He glances up, trying not to look too dour, and makes eye contact with the phantom Donna, beaming at him from the corner.

He _hates_ being off blockers.

 _“Matthew Santos is throwing a ton of numbers at you hoping you'll be so confused as to miss the fact that his education plan is both impractical and unaffordable.”_ He takes a deep breath, feeling her shock as both Donnas merge into one, sitting across from him. Her smile is faltering. _“He was a House member, you'd think behavior like that would annoy him.”_

He looks up and meets her eyes. “Donna Moss, spokesperson, Russell for President Campaign.”

She’s frowning. _Good,_ he thinks, and hates the victorious feeling in his stomach. _She’ll understand it._

“You know I didn’t-”

 _“Claiming that three House terms qualifies you to be President is like me saying I'm a foreign relations expert because I ordered Kung Pao last night._ February 26; Coffee, Cake, and Candidates; Raleigh, North Carolina.”

“Josh-”

_“He wasn't a military strategist, he was a pilot. Ask him about the overhead compartment, not about defense.”_

He can feel her anger. He can _feel_ her betrayal, that he’s throwing these back in her face, that he’s daring to claim that they somehow were wrong. He also knows that she knows that he’s right. Funny, how quickly things can change, as she gears up for the offensive. This isn’t a pleasant reunion anymore and it’s his fault.

Funny, how the only times he can feel her feelings in the nebulous space they call a cluster are when he’s insulting her. But it’s not funny, just sad.

He needs to stop.

“You called Russell a cowpoke. You said the President avoided him in the halls. You hummed ‘These Boots are Made for Walking’ every time the press mentioned his name.” She’s furious, now, and he deserves it.

“Yeah, but I _won._ ” He needs to _stop._ But he knows himself well enough to know that just because he _should_ stop talking doesn’t mean he-

He manages to stop. A miracle in and of itself. Then he does something he doesn’t do very often, and steps out of his body, into psychic space.

He’s sitting in the chair next to hers, now, watching himself. His body doesn’t look upset - it looks _vindicated_ , like he did this on purpose. Like he _wanted_ this.

 _Is this what it looks like all the time?_ he wonders, and then wishes he hadn’t. The hard part is- he doesn’t want to hurt her, but it feels _good_ to be right. He likes being right. He hates how terrible that makes him.

“It was my _job,_ ” she whispers, still facing where his body is sitting. “I know you’re not used to us not working on the same team-”

“I’ve got an airplane hanger out there filled with 500 strangers looking to me for direction,” he says, quietly, from next to her. She jumps. She never expects him to use their cluster, to treat her like anyone other than his longtime assistant, and it never stops hurting.

It’s his own fault. Well, it was justified in the beginning, for maintaining an appropriate boss-subordinate relationship, but it’s long stopped being legally complicated - since she quit. All of their issues during the primaries are because of him.

The thought only makes it worse, because he can’t do anything to stop himself from doing _this._

“I've got a candidate who doesn't trust any of them, and frankly neither do I.” He takes a deep breath, feeling his resolve crack. “And if you think I don't miss you every day...”

Donna doesn’t turn to look at him. She stares straight ahead at his body, and to everyone outside, this looks like a normal - if awkward - meeting. He knows better. He’s close enough to see her shaking, to hear her breaths as they come out of her like she’s about to start crying. He can barely hold the tears back, himself.

“I can’t _trust_ you, Donna,” he says. “I wish I could. I really do. But- you worked for Russell. You left to work with Will _damn_ Bailey, and Toby refused to leave the White House because I _hurt his feelings_ , and- it was just me, and Santos, and his _baby_ staff, for the entire damn primary. None of them know you. I- I built this organization from the ground up, and none of them know your _name._ ”

He sighs, and rubs a hand over his forehead. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” agrees Donna, in the psychic space so no one else can hear. Her voice is trembling violently. Then she stands, physically, and nods at his body, sounding much more collected. “Thank you for your time.”

He turns to watch her leave from the chair next to hers, but once the door closes behind her he’s deposited back in his body, leaving him disoriented and dizzy. He only makes it to the door in time to see her step into the elevator, and as soon as the door closes he sags back against the doorframe, feeling exhausted. He can still feel her pain, her- the betrayal. She was so happy to see him. So confident that he’d welcome her back.

It’s only day two of the campaign. He’d been so excited by their win - so exhilarated, to not be against everyone he cares about anymore - that he’d skipped the blockers, yesterday and today, just like he had after Bartlet’s first win. He’d left them at home today, so glad to be _connected_ to people again. In the social sense, yes, but also relishing the feeling of _Donna_ that lives in the back of his mind.

_So much for that._

He makes his way over to the conference room where Santos and Leo are having lunch. They finally seem to have worked something out, which he’d normally be over the moon to see.

He knocks on the doorframe, poking his head inside. “Hey,” he says, mustering a smile. If he doesn’t pretend to be at least hopeful, Leo will ask him what’s wrong and insist on an answer. “How’s it going?”

“Good. You made a good choice with Leo - he’s going to be a great vice president, I think,” says Santos, looking up. He’s grinning. Josh, internally, feels a little bit of the weight of everything evaporate. They’d chosen Leo on his own suggestion, and he’d been worrying about it ever since. He’s glad to see he made a decent choice. “Do you need something?”

“Either of you have- do you have any blockers?”

Santos shakes his head, the smile intact, but Leo’s face instantly turns into one of concern. Santos may know how Josh lives on the stuff, but Leo understands the implications of him not having any on hand. Luckily, that also solves the problem of having to explain what’s wrong - he knows him well enough to know that Josh _really_ doesn’t want to discuss the specifics of his relationship with Donna.

“I’ve got some,” says Leo, pulling out a small pill container from his pocket. It always looks wrong to Josh when he does that, like he’s back to valium or whatever else he was on, but when he pops it open it only has the familiar black capsules. “You okay?”

“I’m- I’m fine,” he says, reaching out and taking one. He swallows it dry, and almost instantly, Donna’s feelings fade from the back of his mind. “Just had a tough interview.”

“With who?” says Santos, looking concerned, but not enough to get on his nerves. Sometimes it’s scary, how well he’s stepping into the role of president, how much of a leader he’s becoming. Josh wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

“Former spokesman for the Russell campaign,” says Josh, trying for a smile. Santos doesn’t realize the implication. “It’s no big deal. Get back to whatever you were doing.”

“If you say so,” says Santos. “Back to work for us.” He’s smiling.

Leo, though, keeps his eyes on Josh. He knows better.

“Back to work,” repeats Josh, refusing to meet his eyes, and turns around. “Edie, who’s next?”

* * *

Josh wakes up with a gasp, sitting up immediately. He’s in a hotel room in- in- it’s either Philadelphia or not Philadelphia, and he honestly doesn’t care, right now, trying as he is not to freak out from whatever dream he just had. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, and then exhales, long and slow, letting his body bend as it loses internal volume. He’s never stopped marvelling at the miracle of modern medicine that allows him to breathe without a hint of pain or discomfort, only a slight tugging sensation near his heart that he barely feels, on busy days. He can’t remember what his dream was about, except that it was nerve-wracking and about- it was about-

“Nice pajamas,” says Donna. Josh jerks his head up, his heart rate ratcheting up again. A second ago, he was alone in the room, silver city lights shining in through the curtains. Now, though, there’s someone else on his bed.

Well, not exactly. But Josh is unused enough to the psycellium and the process of visiting someone psychically that it certainly _feels_ like she climbed through his window.

“Hi,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, tamping down on the surprise and the exasperation and the ever-simmering joy at seeing her here, the physical manifestation of how he’ll never lose her.

Too sappy. Moving on.

“Nice to see you. Thanks for asking if I was busy before invading my bedroom.”

“You’re in bed,” says Donna. “You’re not busy.”

“You don’t know that!” he exclaims. “You don’t even know what hotel I’m in. Come to think of it-”

He stops, glancing around as he relishes the feeling of being loud again. It’s so _hard,_ sometimes, to control himself, to stay calm and quiet and keep this campaign from taking a nosedive. “ _I_ don’t know what hotel I’m in.”

Donna starts to laugh, but she stops when she sees the look on his face. “You’re serious?”

“What?”

“This is your apartment, Josh. We got back to the District last afternoon.” She pushes her hair out of her face, absent-mindedly. She’s dressed just as casually as he is - probably in her own bed, in fact. He thinks it, and then he’s there with her, on her couch.

“Oh,” he says, glancing around, but he’s still thinking about his apartment. It’s probably not a good thing that he can’t recognize his own bedroom, anymore.

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, you’re right,” he says. “I’ve got nothing.”

“Yeah,” she says, starting to frown. “Not an uncommon predicament.” She glowers at him, and he almost makes a joke, before he registers that she’s serious.

“Is this about earlier today?” he asks. He sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. It’s too late for this, probably, but he can’t sleep, and better to get this out of the way where no one can hear them. “Look-”

“No, _you_ get to listen to me this time,” she says, surprisingly forcefully. He realizes, rather late, that she probably sought him out on purpose, when she knew he wouldn’t be on blockers. Their conversation earlier in the day, after Lou had hired her and hadn’t _told him,_ was interrupted by women’s groups issues, and they never got a chance to say anything of meaning. He hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted them to.

“You don’t get to hold what I said for the Russell campaign against me. I was doing my job, in politics, no worse than anything CJ or you have ever done.” She turns her entire body to stare at him. “You can’t blame me for quitting, either. God- Josh- I have my own life, you know. I know you took it personally that I went to work for Russell, but it really wasn’t. It was just me trying to get past being Josh Lyman’s errand girl for the rest of my life. I’m _more_ than that, Josh, and whenever I tried to talk to you about it, you blew me off.”

She takes a deep breath, glancing away from him. She puts her elbow on the back of the couch and leans her head against her hand. He watches her index finger curl itself in her hair, and considers.

“You can’t keep me away from opportunities - this campaign - because you’re holding a grudge, Josh. You know _better_ than that. You and I both know that I’m too good for you to afford losing me, so- god- you know? You need to be able to work with me! That’s something I deserve. I deserve to work on this campaign, and it’s not right for you to keep me away from it.”

Josh nods, sort of, but he doesn’t think she sees it.

“That’s it,” she says. “That’s what I wanted to say.” But then she keeps going - and it’s not just about her job, anymore. He’s not surprised at the depth of this - it’s been a long eight years, and he deserves it. If he’s being truthful, he’s been expecting it for a few months now. But he’s still- he still hasn’t-

“You don’t respect me, Josh. We’re a cluster, you know, equals in every way, or at least, we’re supposed to be. But you still think you can yell and I’ll come running with the latest files on the Whip count or I’ll be on my knees asking-”

“You’re right,” he says, quietly. She stops talking. He thinks she might be shocked into silence. He mirrors her pose, on the other end of her couch - mostly so he doesn’t have to meet her eyes. “I mean, I’m not dumb enough to think that you’ll ever _kneel_ like I’m some kind of royalty. But-”

He thinks back, to every comment he’s ever made, every time he’d ever yelled from his office to her cubicle, every time he’d ignored what she had to say and moved on.

Except, despite what she thinks, he hasn’t forgotten. And it’s all coming back to haunt him, now. If only-

“It’s too bad clustermates can’t read each other’s minds,” he says, startling himself by laughing softly at the image. “We’d have a much easier time of things.”

He glances at Donna, who’s looking at him again. He can’t read her expression. He looks away.

“You know I don’t mean the things I say,” he says. “You’ve heard me yell at people I would never want to yell at, and how I regret it, a second after they hang up. You know-” He hesitates.

“Yeah,” says Donna. There it is. It hits him with alarming regularity: she’s the only person that’s ever known him this well.

So how doesn’t she- how can it be that he hasn’t-

“Somehow-” he says, then chuckles again, ruefully. He’s never really considered telling her this, but it might be the best thing he’s ever done. “Somehow that’s been almost every interaction we’ve ever had, since we bonded.”

“What?”

She doesn’t understand. He probably should’ve expected that.

“I did pretty well in Germany,” he says, glancing back at her. He represses the memory of sitting on the plane for all eight hours without blockers, spending the whole flight watching her slip in and out of consciousness, and focuses on what it felt like when she woke up, in the hopes that she can pick up on some of his emotions. “Remember that? I was there for you.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at him, slightly. “It was nice.”

“Nice,” he repeats, smiling back, in the same quiet sort of way. “That’s how I want to act around you, all the time. Did you know that? I _do_ respect you, Donna, and the genius political mind you’ve got, and I want to show it all the time. It just- my wires get crossed. I have- mixed feelings, about this whole cluster thing, and I don’t know why, and I wish I wasn’t like this, but it means I don’t want to bring you in too close, because you’ll get hurt the way I always hurt you anyway, and-”

He stops himself, before things get too out of hand. He’s not really addressing any of the campaign issues, and he should be, but he can’t quite figure out how to say any of what he feels.

“Look. I’m sorry. You don’t- you never deserved this, any of this, and I’m sorry that I’m- a pretty crappy clustermate, all things considered. But-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to make any of this right. But I’m going to try to do better. I’m _trying_ to do better. I know was a jerk this morning, but it was mostly because I was surprised and- well, it’s not an excuse, anyway. You’re right about working for Russell - there’s nothing wrong with going for the winning horse in this game, no matter what Toby says. You should definitely be working on the campaign, and I’m sorry I said otherwise. You’re going to work on it, now, how it should be.”

“Oh?” she says, smiling slightly at him. He knows he didn’t really get it out right, but she seems to have understood him anyway. As always, he’s so _very_ grateful that she knows him as well as she does. “Are you gonna _allow_ me to work on the campaign?”

“Yeah, well, I’ll need to check with the campaign manager,” he says, leaning back. His arm stretches out over the back of the couch and accidentally brushes her hand. “He’s a bit of a hardass, I don’t know if you’ve heard.”

“I’ve heard,” she says, grinning at him. “He’s got one hell of a guilt complex, too.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But someone told me that his clustermate’s pretty amazing. And smart. And skilled. And-”

“If this is what gets you to be nice to me, I’m going to hide your blockers every day for the rest of your life,” says Donna. She’s smiling - it’s a joke! - but his own grin still fades.

“I think it’s the exhaustion, really,” he says, trying to salvage the mood. She notices, and frowns, reaching out to grab his hand and squeeze it.

“I know you don’t mean what you say,” she says. “Not always. And- it’s okay, you know. That’s who you are. But-” She studies his hand, avoiding his eye. “It still hurts, you know.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m working on it. It’s just- this campaign has been-”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know. We can figure out how to make this easier after we win.” She smiles at him, softly. “Go back to sleep, Josh.”

He lays down, and he’s in his bed again. This time, though, Donna’s lying next to him, still holding his hand. He runs his fingers down her palm and turns it over to examine her nails.

“You’re- you’re really good at this now, you know,” he whispers. “I know you don’t need me to say it. But I still want to. I’m really proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

She leans forward to kiss his forehead, and then she’s gone.

* * *

“Hi, Mrs. Santos,” says Donna, walking into the room. Helen Santos looks up from the couch she’s sitting on, in the Los Angeles hotel that they’re staying at, five weeks until election day. She smiles, sort of vaguely. “Hi, Donna. Please, how many times to I have to tell you-”

“-it’s just Helen,” Donna finishes with her. “Yes, of course. May I sit?”

“Sure,” says Helen, shifting to the side and taking her papers with her. At a glance, they look like the latest numbers on Ohio, but Donna can’t be sure. She sits.

“What did you need to talk about?” Helen asks, turning towards her. Donna made this appointment a week ago, after realizing a vital piece of information that had been overlooked. Sure, no one made a fuss about these things for candidates - especially long shot ones, especially long shot ones that hadn’t been expected to survive _New Hampshire,_ must less defeat the vice president in the primaries - but for presidents, it was a bigger deal.

“This is- a bit of a sensitive subject, for some people,” starts Donna. Helen nods. “I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want to say anything in response to this. I only think that you should be keeping this in mind, before the election.”

Helen nods again. “Are you planning on telling me what _this_ is anytime soon?”

Donna laughs, nervously. “Yes, of course. Um. It’s only that the families of presidents are very vulnerable, and the Secret Service-”

“-protects the First Family, yes, I’ve heard.”

“Not only the First Family. Also the First- well, there’s no official name for it, but we call it the First Cluster.”

“Oh,” says Helen. Donna cringes.

“Please don’t think I’m fishing for any information,” she says, quickly. “The circumstances vary, of course. The Secret Service don’t usually post permanent protection if the president’s cluster isn’t common knowledge, just to avoid arousing suspicion, but that means that-”

“-we’d have to be quiet about who’s in our cluster,” finishes Helen. Donna nods. “Yes. If that’s the course you choose, the identities of his- your- the identities of the Congressman’s clustermates would be highly classified information. So you might want to consider- it might be good to give them a head’s up. And you should probably start thinking about who needs to know who they are.”

“I... see,” says Helen. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll let the Congressman know.”

“Alright,” says Donna, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“Ah, ah, careful,” says Helen, wagging a finger. Donna frowns, mentally backtracking, and realizes her mistake of being too formal. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, Helen.”

“It’s okay,” says Helen. She sits for a moment in silence, seeming thoughtful. “The Congressman and I are in the same cluster,” she says eventually. “I’d- I supposed that’s easier on the Secret Service?”

“Yes,” says Donna. “The-”

She stops herself from saying anything further. President Bartlet and the First Lady aren’t exactly quiet about who’s in their cluster, especially with senior staff, but that doesn’t mean she should go talking about it in an unsecured room in _LA,_ of all places.

To cover for her blunder, she gives up something else: “The same with Josh. They got really lucky with him, actually. It’s just him and me, so they won’t have to worry about anyone threatening the Chief of Staff through the barista in the local Starbucks.”

Helen looks up from the Ohio numbers she’d drifted back to, a slow smile creeping up on her face. “Josh is in your cluster?”

“Uh-” says Donna, feeling like national security wasn’t worth whatever she’s just blundered into. _Oops._ “Josh- Josh _is_ my cluster, ma’am.”

She catches her mistake the second it’s out of her mouth, but Helen doesn’t call her on it, more focused on other revelations. “No wonder you two look at each other the way you do!” she says, sounding delighted. Donna shuts her eyes, praying for this to go away. It’s not that she’s ashamed of Josh - it’s just so, _so_ complicated, and other people never think about how difficult it was. Still is.

“Ma’am, I know this is a wonderful revelation for you and all, but it really isn’t-”

“Why not?” says Helen, grinning at her. “The man is obviously head over heels for you.”

“Yes,” agrees Donna. “And I was his assistant for eight years. We’re already clustermates- if something had-”

“But you’re not his assistant anymore,” says Helen. “I mean, it might look sort of sketchy, but as long as you don’t work under him in the-”

Donna scoffs. “Yeah, and where am I going to get a job that’s not under the Chief of Staff? In the _White House?”_

“My office,” says Helen, and looks like she instantly regrets saying it. She takes a deep breath. “I mean- I was planning on asking you to be my own Chief of Staff. That is, you know, assuming we wi-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” says Donna, holding up a finger. “Otherwise Josh _will_ find out and he _will_ make you go outside and spit.”

“He’ll _what?”_ Helen is laughing, sort of incredulously, and Donna softens. “Well, probably not you. But he’ll make _me_ go outside and spit, because he’s a deeply superstitious man. I think he got it from Toby.”

“Toby- Toby Ziegler? The leaker?”

“Yeah,” says Donna, wincing only slightly at the description. “He’s only ever won two campaigns, both of them for President Bartlet. I think it’s given him extreme anxiety about anything that can go wrong, meaning he’s-”

“-a deeply superstitious man,” finishes Helen. “I see.”

Donna smiles, thinks back on what Helen was saying before she nearly jinxed the entire campaign, and frowns. “You want to hire me as your Chief of Staff?”

Helen nods. “Yes. I wasn’t intending to tell you like this, but... yes.”

Donna frowns harder. “And if I were _your_ Chief of Staff-”

“-you wouldn’t work under Josh,” says Helen. “In fact, you would work in direct opposition to him, from what I’ve heard about the West vs East Wing conflicts.”

“That’s true,” says Donna. And then: “Really? _Me?”_

Helen smiles at her. “Yes. I mean, you’re smart, you’re capable, you know your way around D.C. and around the West Wing...”

“Wow,” says Donna, blinking. “I mean- I’d be honored, ma’am. I mean, Helen.”

“Excellent,” says Helen. “And about Josh, that means...?”

“I can get- _huh,”_ says Donna. It’s hitting her that all of the reasonable objections are gone, now, and all that’s left is Josh’s ridiculousness. She can deal with Josh’s ridiculousness. “I guess I can.”

“Think about it,” says Helen, grinning. “Best of luck to you. He seems pretty immature to me, but you seem to like him.”

“He’s enough for me,” says Donna, smiling back. “He’s better when he’s not around other people. Thank you, Helen.”

“You’re welcome, Donna,” she says. “Thank you for warning me.”

“You’re welcome,” says Donna, and picks up the numbers from Ohio.

* * *

The beeping alarm wakes him up. Josh reaches out, blearily, to shut it off, and gets it in three tries. He sits up, yawns, rubs his eyes, stretches his arms - it’s good for circulation, or something - and reaches for his box of blockers.

It isn’t where it usually is, so he feels around his nightstand for it. When that turns up fruitless too, he finally blinks his eyes open to glance over.

The box is gone.

Josh has knocked it onto the floor in his sleep a few times, but he checks on the ground and it isn’t there, either. He frowns.

He stands up from the bed, making sure to stay quiet, and rummages around in the drawer of the nightstand, but he can’t find anything. He moves into the bathroom and is halfway through his medicine cabinet ( _wow,_ he thinks, _I really have to clean this out)_ when the bed starts making noises.

He half-runs, half-slides on the tile until he gets to the wooden floor of the bedroom proper, and then he goes back around to sit on his side of the bed and wait.

In a few minutes, Donna’s head emerges from the bedspread, looking adorably rumpled. She brushes her hair out of her face and squints at him. “Why are you making such a racket?”

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I can’t find my blockers.”

“Oh,” says Donna, her eyes fluttering shut again. She forces them open to look at him. “Right. I hid them.”

“What?” says Josh, probably louder than he needs to. He’s instantly upset, his hackles up. “Why?”

“You didn’t use any during our vacation,” she says, sounding defensive.

He throws his hands up, standing. “Yes, because we were on _vacation!”_

“And now you want to run back to blockers?” she says, just as loudly, as she sits up. “It’s our first day back at work! Is it such a terrible concept to have to be connected to me while you prepare to run the country?”

“No!” shouts Josh. “Of course it isn’t!”

“Then what’s the problem?” Donna yells back.

“You made the decision for me!” he says. “Why did you do that?”

“I mean-” says Donna. She sighs. “Obviously if you want them, I’ll give them to you. I just thought- you’ve usually taken them before I have a chance to wake up enough to talk to you about it. I wanted to have the chance to, which meant slowing you down.”

Josh stares at her. “You can’t just-” He takes a deep breath. He can’t express why he’s feeling so upset right now, except maybe that she messed with his routine for her own reasons, and it’s ruining his day. The day that’s barely started. “You could’ve brought it up last night, when we got back from the airport.”

Donna frowns. “I could’ve, yeah. But I forgot, and then you were asleep, and I figured it was easier- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess with your space.” She seems like she’s just remembering how particular he is about his stuff. She looks guilty. _Good,_ a vindictive part of him thinks, but he pushes it down.

“It’s-” he says. He sighs, holding out his hand. “Can I have my blockers back, please?”

“Yes,” says Donna, reaching under her pillow and handing him the small container. He weighs it in his hand and takes another deep breath. “Why don’t you want me to take them?”

Donna looks surprised that he’s still considering it. “I don’t want us to be so separate all the time,” she says. “We’re together now. Closer than we were before. I want- I want us to have that in every way we can.”

“Yeah,” says Josh. He sighs. “You know that once we get into office-”

“You’ll have to be on them all the time,” she says. “I know. But I just thought- it would be nice, Josh. Just for now, it would be nice. I know you have your reasons, but-”

“Yeah,” says Josh. He looks down at the tin. “I’ll take them into work,” he says. “But I won’t take one right now.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No,” he says, looking up at her. “You’re right. I really- I really like being connected to you.”

“I’m glad,” Donna says. “Me too.”

“Okay,” he says. He smiles at her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, smiling at him.

“Just- don’t steal my stuff, okay?”

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry about that. I really did forget.”

“Yeah,” says Josh, suddenly feeling exhausted. He has to go into _work_ again. And he was just learning how to enjoy time off, too. He slips into the psycellium, next to her, and kisses her briefly. She kisses him back, eventually pulling back to smile at him. “Thank you,” she says.

“I love you,” he says again, and leans back in.

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all follow me [on tumblr](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com), you know i am OBSESSED with this 'verse. therefore! i am open to prompts!! all the time, any time, about ANYONE'S cluster, not just josh/donna! headcanons, ficlets, just general information... i'm here, y'all. send me an ask over on tumblr if you'd like and check out the ['verse tag](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com/tagged/tww-sense8-au) for anything i've already written!
> 
> i headcanon josh as adhd in canon, and tried my best to express that in this fic too. i've been researching it for about a year now, but i'm still learning, so if anyone has any corrections/feedback related to my attempt to portray that in this fic, please let me know, either in the comments or on tumblr. i want to make sure i haven't messed this up!
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading <3 stay hydrated, get your sleep, etc, etc


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